What If?
by ironheartwriter
Summary: A series of unconnected Maxton-themed oneshots. Potential spoilers ahead.


AN: So, I was bored and procrastinating the other night on Tumblr and asked for Maxton prompts. The only one I got was this one from an anon (Season 3 spoiler, beware): Mike was the one to show up and startle max that night, not Tom. So that kind of inspired me to think about some 'what if' situations for Maxton. This will hopefully be the first of several. Feel free to send me suggestions, if you like! Either here or on tumblr (I use the same username over there too).

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Max Hardy had a headache. Was it a headache? Maybe it was a migraine. It had been one hellishly long day. Between Clarke's memorial ceremony, talking to Mike, and getting through the rest of her day, she was ready to crash for the night. She exited the subway and headed up the street to her apartment building. She stopped to get the mail and a chill passed through her. She figured she was just tired after the draining day. All she truly wanted was to get upstairs to her apartment, shower, and collapse in bed. She headed up the stairs to her apartment. As she stood in front of the door to her apartment, however, her hair stood on end.

The years she spent as a street cop and a detective before joining the FBI had given Max pretty good instincts. She rarely doubted them. And after everything that had happened a year ago, and more recently with Mark and his followers, rarely a day went by that she wasn't on edge. The soft sounds of someone climbing the stairs reached her ears and all of a sudden every nerve in her body was on fire. Her hand went for her gun as someone reached the landing and her heart thundered painfully in her chest. She jumped as she saw Mike appear out of the corner of his eyes.

Mike's eyes widened as he saw the hand on her gun and he held his hands up, "Easy, Max. It's just me. It's only me…."

"Mike," Max sighed, her heart continuing to race slightly as she shook her head. She took her hand away from her gun. She was actually relieved that it was only him. "Mike, what are you doing here?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Mike said with a shake of his head and a guilty look. He should have known better than to sneak up on Max. With everything that they had experienced, he really should have known better.

"Were you following me or something?" Max asked, inhaling slowly and deeply, tilting her head as she looked at Mike. It had been a long, long time since he had come over to her apartment. It wasn't that he wasn't welcome; she was just surprised to see him there.

"Not intentionally," Mike said with a shake of his head. He shifted slightly on his feet, almost as though he wasn't completely sure what he was doing there. "I thought I saw you come home when I was coming from the other direction. I called your name, but you didn't hear me."

Max tilted her head as she looked at Mike, "I'm… sorry. My head is just all over the place right now. It's been a long day and…."

Her voice trailed off as she saw the look in Mike's eyes. He looked as bad as she felt, if not worse. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days, if not longer, "Are you okay, Mike?"

"I just… I needed to get out of my place for a while," Mike said, looking Max in her eyes. The eye contact didn't last long, though. It never did those days. "I felt like I was being suffocated or something. I can't sleep; I can't do anything other than see that _stupid_ box whenever I close my eyes."

Max knew exactly what Mike was talking about. What happened to Clarke had been horrific, something out of a twisted horror movie or someone's darkest, sickest, most horrifying nightmare. She reached out and rubbed Mike's arm, giving him a soft squeeze, "Look, I haven't eaten yet, and knowing you, you probably haven't either. Do you want to go find some food or something?"

Mike considered for a moment before he sighed softly, "Are you sure that's alright? I don't want to put you in a worse position than you're already in with me."

Max reached up, putting her hand on Mike's cheek, forcing him to look at her. Ever since he got back he would barely hold eye contact with her for longer than five seconds. She could understand why, but it drove her crazy. His eyes had been the first thing she had been attracted to. Now he wouldn't even give her the courtesy of looking at her. She looked at him, holding his eyes. The pain she saw in them caused her own heart to ache, "Come on. Let's go get some food."

Having dinner wasn't as bad as Max thought it would be. It almost felt like when they had been together and they used to have time to actually enjoy being out together. It started out awkward and silent, but soon enough they were talking and catching up like no time had passed between them. Max hated herself for thinking it, but she wished that things didn't have to be weird between her and Mike. Sure, things were complicated, hell, that was a huge understatement, but that didn't mean she didn't still love him.

He told her the stories of what he had been doing in the eleven months he was away, and she told him all about leaving the NYPD to go train at Quantico and then becoming Ryan's partner. It was strange to her to think that so much had changed in just a year. They felt like familiar strangers to one another. There had been a point, right after they had gotten together, where things had almost seemed too easy between them. But then the nightmares came, for both of them. He dreamed of Mark, Lily, and his father, she dreamed of losing everything after the truth was found out. Then the offer came for Mike to leave and chase after Mark, and he took it. And just like that, he disappeared from her life for eleven months.

"I'm sorry, Max."

Max blinked, not completely sure that she hadn't imagined hearing what Mike said. She looked at him, his eyes piercing her, making her heart skip a beat in an almost familiar way, "For what?" She asked at last.

Mike laughed, though the sound of it was humorless, "Where do I start?" He asked, tapping his fingers on the table between them, "For putting you in the position where you had to cover up what I did? For letting Mark come between us? For leaving you to hunt him? For not admitting what I did and letting Clarke pay the price? For—"

"Mike, stop," Max cut him off, tears stinging at her eyes and blurring her vision. She inhaled slowly and shakily. She knew that whatever guilt she had to be feeling, Mike had to be feeling tenfold. She suddenly understood why he looked so miserable all the time. He was feeling the guilt and it was continuing to crush him with every wrong move he continued to make.

She reached out and took his hand in both of hers, "Mike, we can't go back and change what happened, as much as we might want to. Even if we did confess to what happened that day with Lily, there was no guarantee for Clarke's life. He was dead before the deadline. We found that warehouse…."

Max's throat tightened and she looked at the table. She _hated_ thinking about that day. She tried to reassure Mike, but at the same time, she wasn't even completely certain of what she was saying. She just wanted to take away his pain, along with hers. She wasn't sure that it would ever be fully possible, though, as much as she wanted it to be. She felt him squeeze her hand, and the gesture brought her back to herself.

"Sorry…."

Mike shook his head, "Don't be. I don't think anyone can ever fully understand what went on aside from you, me, and Ryan."

"You're right," Max said at last, her voice cracking slightly. She inhaled slowly and deeply, "Even Tom… he doesn't get it. He tries, he really does, but at the end of the day, he can only listen. He can't do anything else, and right now, I need more than that."

Mike knew all too well what Max meant. Trying to speak to therapists had never done him any good personally. He didn't have any contact with his family after his father passed away. All the blame was placed on him by them, as far as his father's death went. That was always the one thing that was the hardest on him; the guilt of his father's murder. He wondered sometimes what might have happened if he never shot Luke that first time near the dam. There were times he wished he could go back and change it all, and this was one of those times.

After a brief argument, Mike paid for their dinner and together they walked back to Max's apartment. It almost felt like old times to him, and that made him ache. He'd made so many mistakes, one after another, he wasn't sure he would ever be the person he once was, but he could at least try to do right by her, if nothing else.

They walked up the staircase to her apartment together, and Mike felt a wave of sadness pass through him. He didn't want the night to end. As Max unlocked the door to her apartment, she turned to Mike, "Thanks for tonight," She said in a soft tone. "It was nice to get out for a while and just have someone to talk to."

"It was," Mike said with a nod. "Thank you too, Max. It was just what I needed." He once again shifted on his feet, "Um, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then. Have a good night."

Max managed a small smile before she inhaled slowly as Mike turned away from her, "Mike, wait."

Mike paused as he was about to walk away from her. He turned to her, tilting his head slightly. Max nodded towards her apartment, "Do you, um, want to come in? We could have a drink or something."

"Are you sure?" Mike asked, rubbing at the back of his neck. The last thing he wanted was for Max to feel like he was overstaying his welcome when thing were finally starting to feel normal between them again.

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't," Max said with a nod, leading the way into her apartment. Mike walked in after her. It was almost exactly as he had remembered it, and that gave him a sense of comfort, which at the moment, was exactly what he needed.


End file.
